


Healing Hands

by Spencer5460



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e21 Bloodbath, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 18:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13596333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer5460/pseuds/Spencer5460
Summary: Starsky swallowed. "Between the war and the streets, I've seen a lot of shit. Hate, emptiness. Maybe I've seen too much. It would be so easy to just give up.” They both heard what he didn't say.'I'm afraid of becoming one of them. Faceless. Nameless. Swallowed up.'





	Healing Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, this is pretty slashy for me. I have no idea what got in to me. Thanks to Mvernet for the title. Although her suggestion was slightly different.

"I think I'll get stay at your place if you don't care." Starsky fought to keep from sounding like a timid mouse although he knew he didn't have to. Hutch, of all people would understand, maybe even more than he did himself. That's just the way he was - they were. 

"Sure. No problem." Hutch answered back from behind the wheel. After treating various burns and cuts, the doctors at the hospital had given Starsky a clean bill of physical health, but no one could say for sure how three days at the hands of sadistic cultists had affected his mind. Three days without knowing when - or if - his partner would come to his rescue. 

Hutch didn't try to engage him in conversation the rest of the way home, for which Starsky was grateful. He didn't feel much like talking. Not until Hutch announced that there was salami and root beer in the fridge was the silence broken.

Starsky nearly smiled at that. Salami and root beer weren't normal staples of Hutch's fridge. That Hutch had stocked Starsky's standbys was clear indication he had fully planned on getting Starsky back. 

"Thanks, but I think I'll just hit the hay. It's been a long coupla days."

"Sure. Go ahead and take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch," Hutch said. 

"As long as you're offerin’." Starsky slid his jeans off his hips and kicked them away from where they pooled at his feet on the floor. His shirt came next. He made no pretext of being anything but exhausted as he fell into Hutch’s bed. 

ooOOoo

Hutch stretched out on the couch and tried not to think about the raw scrapes and bruises that he'd seen on Starsky's torso. It looked like he'd been to hell and back - and maybe he had. 

_Fuck that._

Hutch curled his hands into fists. He'd been on a terrifying trip of his own although the damage he'd sustained was less obvious. For three days he'd threatened, bargained, and even lowered himself to plead with the man who'd ordered Starsky's kidnapping. More lunatic than leader. 

Hutch had even prayed to a god he usually doubted was listening. But after everything, he'd found Starsky in the nick of time. So maybe Someone was listening after all. 

Hutch was only slightly less exhausted than his abused partner but didn't fall asleep until he heard soft snoring coming from the bed. 

Sometime in the night the snores turned to screams, jolting him awake. 

ooOOoo

There were black voids where their eyes should have been. If he looked into them he could see straight to hell. Voices hammered in his head "Simon Simon Simon," an endless, water-torture beat until he could hardly think. Bony fingers clawed at his arms and legs, trying to tear him apart. He didn't want to be afraid. Fear was an enemy of its own. But where was Hutch? It wasn't his body they wanted. They were after his soul. 

ooOOoo

"Shhhh. Shhhh. I'm here." A familiar voice, husky and low, broke through the horrifying chant to soothe him. He felt a comforting hand card through his hair. 

"What?" Starsky twisted in the bedsheets, caught between waking and dreaming. 

"It's just me," Hutch said inches from his ear. Hutch had climbed into the bed beside him, his body lean and warm, serving to push the demons away. 

Starsky quieted, his racing pulse steadying. 

"Must have been on hell of a dream." Hutch said. 

"Yeah," Starsky let out a deep breath and settled back into the bedding. He saw that the shadows around him were Hutch's apartment rather than the cold caves of the abandoned zoo. "You have no idea."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hutch put his arm over Starsky's chest but rather than feeling confined, it made him feel secure. 

"I . . ." Starsky swallowed and shook his head. How could he talk about something he didn't quite understand himself? But Hutch had earned something more from him than vague mumblings. "It wasn't so much the getting knocked around. I can handle myself, ya know?"

"Of course you can. You're the toughest guy I know. Besides me, that is."

Was it possible to smile in the middle of a nightmare? _Yeah._ "They weren't just a bunch of street thugs,” Starsky said. “They were like zombies. But not the kind in horror flicks - bad actors with lotsa makeup. I swear they were dead inside. Really. . . dead." 

"I know what you mean. Simon’s a real nut job. He deserves everything that’s coming to him. But I talked to his groupies, too. Tried to reason with them. I got nowhere. It's like they just gave up their humanity. Their individuality."

"How do people get like that?" Starsky asked. Hutch's hand caressed his ribs feather light over the bruises. His fingers left a pleasant heat everywhere they touched. 

"I don't know." Hutch responded, although maybe he had an idea. Simon's followers, discarded by society and lost, seemed desperate to a part of something / anything. The way one small and insignificant cell is destined to be swallowed up and taken over by a greater whole. Divided again and again until the original is no longer recognizable. 

Hutch's hand strayed down Starsky's abdomen and reached into his briefs. Starsky lay quiet, allowing it, wondering how he wasn't surprised. Shocked. Disgusted, even. Wondering why it felt natural. 

Hutch paused for just a second - waiting for Starsky to push him away? - before his long fingers caressed Starsky's balls, then encircled his cock. 

Rather than drawing away, Starsky hardened.

"They may be dead inside but you're not." Hutch told him. 

Starsky swallowed. "Between the war and the streets, I've seen a lot of shit. Hate, emptiness. Maybe I've seen too much. It would be so easy to just give up.” They both heard what he didn't say. _'I'm afraid of becoming one of them. Faceless. Nameless. Swallowed up.'_

"But you're stronger than that." Hutch tightened his grasp and slowly began to move his hand up and down Starsky's thickening shaft. 

Damn. It felt too good to move away now. Besides, Starsky couldn't think of any reasons why he should. The world might say what they were doing was wrong. But the world was turned upside down. Nothing was as it should be.

Except that he and Hutch were together. It was the only thing that made sense. They made their own choices - nobody did it for them. Who do we trust? Me and thee. 

Starsky moaned as the pressure, the tempo, increased. The same as Hutch knew his favorite songs, his favorite food, Hutch knew just how to touch him. Just how to make him feel good. Bring him release. Make him feel alive. 

"I was alone in the dark," Starsky admitted not caring how he sounded. He was writhing now. Beginning to pant. “I was so lost. I didn't know if you would find me."

Hutch wrapped his legs in Starsky's. He pressed urgent kisses to Starsky's neck. "I'll find you. The way you'll always find me." 

Afterwards they slept side by side. Peacefully, contentedly. It would take time, but they would both heal. 

**FIN**


End file.
